Vegeta Begins Again
by Fati Sasspants
Summary: She swallowed. Her voice came out husky. "And...You don't know who I..." \\ After being taken down during a battle, Vegeta awakens to a strange room, a woman who claims to be his wife, and no recollection of his past.
1. Begin Day One

—Pressure, on his chest, heavier than anything he's ever known. His lungs burn from lack of oxygen; it comes to him every other ragged breath—nowhere near what his body demands. Every fiber of his being is screaming out in agony. A sharp, incredibly pain radiates through his back and shoulders. All around him, a dry wind whistles. He can feel gritty sand grind around in open wounds throughout his body, but there's no strength left in him to care. The point of someone's boot digs into his side, and his body takes to the air like a plastic bag caught in a breeze. Bone strikes stone. Sickening crunch and shallow exhale. Laughter fills the air—

* * *

Somewhere in the distance, there was a steady, electronic buzz. He strained to push through the fog, mostly because now that he was aware of the sound, it was irritating. He shifted his body gently. Something soft brushed against his arms. He tested his eyes, something he immediately regretted. Too bright, he decided, squeezing them shut again.

A groan began to build in his throat, but he forced it down. All that came from him was a weary sigh. He tried a second time, and was rewarded with fuzzy visions of a room— empty, he noticed, aside from himself. Little by little, his vision began to clear. Soon, he could make out that he was in a small, unimpressive room, furnished furnished with a desk, and —he glanced up and over his shoulder— matching bed. He looked down curiously. Sheet and blanket were pulled up around his chest.

"You're awake," a phantom voice said to him. Female." Finally."

His brow creased in alarm. He whipped his head around, directing a startled glare at a long-legged woman with straight, shoulder length blue hair. Her eyes glowed a brilliant blue.

"Where-" he began.

"Nabeno?" she cut in, arching a perfect eyebrow. Her arms folded across her ample chest, a smirk wedged in the corner of her mouth. "Dead. At the last second, Goku showed up—he's always doing that," she sighed and shook her head. "Even did it when he was a kid. So Goku showed up and finished him off, just in time..." she paused, as though perhaps she shouldn't be telling him these things, then began in another direction. "Well, anyway, Gohan was injured pretty bad, too—ChiChi says he just got out of bed a few days ago. You know, it's a real drag senzu beans aren't in season all the time, otherwise—"

He managed out a thick, strange sounding, "stop. Just...just stop."

"Huh?" she said, dropping the details of her story. She frowned. "Your voice," she said. "it's…different."

"_Stop_," he repeated weakly, tiredly. His head suddenly felt as though it weighed a ton. "Who are you?" he demanded, then more fiercely, "who am I? Tell me!"

"What do you mean?" her eyes were wide with fear. "Vegeta, you're not making any sense."

"Vegeta?" he said distantly.

"This isn't funny" she spat, hands at her hips. "Stop playing games!"

"I'm not playing any game!" he insisted.

Taking a step back, the woman raised a hand to her mouth. She said quietly, "You really don't know…?" He stared into her eyes. His chest felt heavy and cold, like he'd been forced to swallow a boulder. The silence stretched for what seemed to be an eternity. She swallowed. Her voice came out husky. "And...You don't know who I..."

Again, he stared.

She dragged her tongue along her lower lip, sucking it in and chewing on it nervously. She rubbed a hand up her forehead and back through her bangs, her head bobbing gently, as though trying to convince herself the situation were indeed real. "So," she began, spreading her hands palm down in the air. She swept them away from each other. "You don't remember..." She searched his eyes as though expecting him to suddenly remember, and when he didn't, she supplied him with, "I'm your_ wife_, Vegeta."

The word hit him like a brick to the stomach. "Wife?" He wasn't sure why that seemed unlikely. After all, he didn't know a thing about himself. But the fact that there wasn't a ring on either of their fingers seemed to support his suspicion. And anyway, if he was her husband, shouldn't she be hysterical right now? He narrowed his eyes skeptically. "We're married?"

"Well…" Bulma, now sitting beside him, let her gaze drift away. "Not in so many words."

"Separated?" he ventured. Perhaps that was the reason for the lack of concern.

"What?" she cried, waving her hands. "Nonono, we're _married_, we just didn't have your typical white-chapel Earth marriage." He could only stare at her like a deer caught in the headlights. "Look, never mind all that right now. You're home."

'Home' told him next to nothing, but it wasn't her fault. He vaguely became aware that the buzzing sound he'd heard earlier had stopped.

"So, you really don't remember anything?" Bulma asked timidly.

Pulling the sheet aside, he slid his legs over the edge of the bed, inspecting his feet, legs and knees. He shook his head gently. "Nothing." He couldn't remember his parents, if he had any, his friends, what he did for a living, where he lived as a child, family pets, grandparents- nothing. It was all just an expanse of nothing inside his head.

She seemed to falter, but then came at him with another question. "Nothing...?" she probed helplessly. "Not even—"

"I don't remember anything!" he shouted, shooting to his feet. He stared pointedly at her. Inside his chest, his heart slammed against his ribcage. "Can't you understand that?"

"I'm sorry!" she apologized, holding her hands up defensively. "This is hard for me, too, you know."

"I didn't get that impression," Vegeta said.

"Are you sure you don't know who you are?" Bulma asked hotly. "Because you're sure acting a lot like someone I know."

He was about to respond when the low murmur of voices found him. He listened hard, eyes flicking from Bulma to the ground. They weren't alone. The pitter-patter of feet tore through the lower half of the house, racing up, up. He balked, took a step back. Did they own a pack of wild dogs? He wondered. He braced himself for the stampede, but one never came. Instead, a short, lavender-haired boy skidded into view, grabbing the doorframe dramatically. He grinned widely, took one look at him, and yelled, "Dad!"

"Dad?" he repeated in bewilderment.

Bulma exclaimed, "Trunks!"

"Trunks?" What kind of name was that?

The boy said again, "Dad!"

* * *

_**There you have it. Another one of **those** fics. Proof that I have way too much time on my hands at the moment. Critique, suggestions, and flames all welcome. Also, yes, I am addicted to using dashes, commas, an**_**_d __ellipses. Sue me. (please don't!)_  
**


	2. And Then What Happened?

_**This is why I love writing fanfiction. I want to thank everyone who responded to my initial question. I really appreciate the feedback, and it helped me further decide where I want to go with this. So I've decided, you're right (at least for now.) Vegeta will remain Vegeta. Again, thank you all very, very much, and feel free to keep critique/other coming. Also, if anyone would be interested in betaing, drop me a line, I'd be more than happy to hear from you.  
**_

* * *

"What's wrong?" Trunks asked, head cocked to the side.

"You know better than to just barge in," Bulma told him.

He thrust a thumb over his shoulder. "The door was open," he said, then flashed a glance at Vegeta, his smile faltering. "Dad?"

Except for his hair, the boy was the spitting image of his mother. Vegeta wondered how much he looked like him, and then realized_ he_ had no idea what _he_ looked like. Vegeta, hand on the side of his face, opened his mouth to explain. "Uhm." he thoughtfully peered down at the floor, then shrugged gently, sending Bulma a perplexed look.

"Trunks," she began, walking toward him, "This isn't the greatest timing. Give us a few minutes alone." She took him by the shoulder and began ushering him from the room, but he wasn't having any of that. He planted his feet firmly into the ground and pushed back against her, head flopping back defiantly.

He looked up at her, saying, "Why do I have to leave? What's wrong? Why won't you tell me?"

Bulma said something about getting his grandparents together and waiting downstairs for them, and as she steered Trunks from the room by his shoulders, Vegeta looked for a mirror but found none. He turned to a window and lifted the blinds out of the way, straining to see his reflection in the glass. The first thing he noticed was that his head was huge. He touched his hair, amazed at the sheer height of it, but then began taking the rest in. Strong jaw line, pointed nose, muscled body. He blinked in surprise, hands exploring his chest.

Strange, but not displeasing.

Bulma came back in a second later.

"He's my son?" he nodded his head at the door.

Bulma pressed her backside into the door. It clicked shut quietly. "Yes."

"Do we have more?" he asked warily.

Bulma flashed a half smile. "Just one."

His eyes wandered around the small room. She seemed content with the silence, which was unnerving. "What now? Do we go to a...a hospital or something?"

Bulma sighed and made her lips thin, blowing air out the corners. She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't think so. There's a lab downstairs—" he squinted, curiously. "Oh. Right. I'm a scientist —my dad is, too— and heiress to this whole place." she lifted both arms, gesturing around the room. "So, naturally, we have a lab. Anyway, uh…Whatever happened could correct itself, so we should probably wait a while and see."

He nodded and rubbed his arm absently. "Ok, but… what do I do in the mean time?"

"Whatever you want to do," she answered with a blink. "Look around, talk to people, see if anything jogs your memory." he looked at her doubtfully. "Hey, stranger things have happened."

He thought back to the buzzing noise. Now that he thought about it, it was less like a buzzing and more like a drilling noise. He peered out the window again, this time inspecting the front lawn and what he could make out of the house. "Who else lives here?"

"We live with my parents," she told him, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. "This place is big enough to where it isn't a problem. And there's a maid that comes once a week to make sure things don't fall apart around here."

A maid? Perhaps they were rich. He took another look at her, and realized for the first time how prim and proper she was, even if her manners weren't. Her make up was flawless, her hair simple yet elegant. She dressed like he thought a woman should, a pair of white wash jeans, orange tee-shirt and red mini-jacket. Nothing fancy, though the jeans didn't look as though they'd obtained the rips in them through wear, and further down he noted a pair of expensive looking shoes.

His gaze went from her feet back to her face as she said, "the others gonna flip their lids when they hear about this."

"There are others?"

"Our friends," she informed him. When he gave her an exasperated look, she waved her hand in the air and said, "One thing at a time. Don't worry about now. Do you want to meet everyone?"

He thought for a minute. "I might as well," he said with a shrug.

It looked as though she might reach out and take his hand, but then she seemed to think better of it, her eyes bouncing up to meet his. She smiled and motioned for him to follow. The halls were spacious and neatly decorated, though not too over the top, and there seemed to be more than enough rooms. He followed her down the stairs, their footsteps alerting everyone of their arrival. Trunks waited at the bottom of the stairs, accompanied by a lavender-haired man with a cigarette poking out of the corner of his mouth, dressed in a white lab coat and thick glasses, and a bubbly looking blonde woman with very unusual eyes.

"Guys," Bulma said, coming to a halt on the very last step. "I don't exactly know how to say this, so I'm just going to come out with it."

"Say what, dear?" the blonde asked in a strange voice that, even more strange, seemed to suit her. She tilted her head slightly and grasped both hands at her chest, waiting expectantly.

"Vegeta's lost his memory."

Three sets of eyes immediately left her and zeroed in on him. They stared, then stared some more. He felt his grip on the banister tighten. "Hello," he said, apprehensively, not sure what else to say.

The woman said, "Oh, my!" and covered her mouth.

"Really?" her father said, leaning in as if to inspect him.

Trunks looked on in awe. "No way! I knew something weird was going on."

Bulma nodded affirmatively. "Something must have happened during the fight with Nabeno. The guys are always getting thrown around pretty rough, so he probably hit his head."

He was collecting information at an agonizingly slow speed. He knew that he was home, where ever that was, and that he had been in some sort of a fight with a guy who went by Nabeno. Who apparently had been killed by someone called... Goki? Goko? Something like that. He wondered if the man was in prison for murder. Probably, though she hadn't said so.

"How much of his memory is gone?" The man, who Bulma introduced at Dr. Brief, her father, inquired. As though he weren't even in the room. It must run in the family, he thought.

"All of it, I guess," Bulma said uncertainly, looking back at him for clarification.

"I don't know who any of you are," Vegeta said. "And I'm still not entirely sure who I am, so," he shrugged. "I guess all of it."

"Very strange…" Dr. Brief stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "This type of amnesia is usually very rare. Very rare, indeed. It might pass in time," he offered.

"That's what I was thinking," Bulma said. She went on to say a few more words to him.

Vegeta surreptitiously watched the exchange, his gaze occasionally wandering. It came to stop on Mrs. Brief, whos demeanor hadn't budged an inch since the introduction. She smiled sweetly at him. He blinked, finding himself caught, and forced a smile back. She neared him and reached out, taking his arm in hers. "Oh," she began, leading him away from the stairs, "you're more than welcome here, Vegeta. Don't worry; this mess will sort itself out." She chuckled, patting his arm reassuringly. "These things always do."

He wondered how many similar incidents the family had endured- they certainly weren't his idea of what a 'normal' family should be. His 'wife' didn't seem at all concerned with the fact that he couldn't remember a thing, and it appeared to bother their son even less.

Mrs. Brief segwayed into her default question, suitable in her eyes for any situation. "Would you like some tea? Perhaps coffee?"

"No," he said, eyes flicking to Bulma. "No thank you."

"Well, all right. But if you change your mind, let me know." She swung her hand out. "Welcome to our home," she said, and then, sensing that her presence was no longer required, she began shimmying out of the room.

What a peculiar walk, Vegeta thought. He felt a tug at his pant leg, and turned to see Trunks.

"Hi, _my_ name is _Trunks_," the boy said, stressing each syllable. "I'm your _son._"

Vegeta winced and brought a hand up to his ear. "It's my memory that's having trouble. My ears are fine."

Trunks took the hint and began speaking at a normal level. "Oh. Right. This is weird. So, uh…you don't remember anything?"

Vegeta shrugged. "Looks that way."

"No sweat," the boy said, holding his hand up. He carried himself with an air of maturity beyond his years.

"You aren't… bothered by any of this?"

"A little," he admitted. "But worse things have happened, so I guess I'm ok with it. Do I still call you dad, or—?"

"That's a good question," Bulma cut in. Her blue eyes sought him out. "I mean, you_ are _still his father."

"But _not_," Dr. Brief added, followed by a soft 'hmm.' "Strange. How does one react in a situation like this?"

"Well, I don't wanna call him 'Vegeta'." Trunks shivered comically. "That'd just be weird."

For the second time in a span of ten minutes, all eyes were once more on him. "I don't know," he answered.

"Goten's dad has another name," Trunks piped up excitedly. "He could have one, too."

He decided that re-naming himself was the least of his problems. "It's not that important. Just call me what you've always called me." Everything he said seemed to be met with an odd stare. "What? What's the matter?"

"It's nothing," Bulma said. "You just...talk different. It's hard to get used to."

"How did I talk before?" he asked.

"Let's put it this way: you did a lot of yelling," Trunks put in with a smirk.

"What they mean to say, my boy, is that your speaking patterns are a bit different than what we're used to," Dr. Brief interpreted with a small smile. "But perhaps that's enough chit chat for now. Trunks, why don't you show him around?"

Bulma perked up at the mention of Trunks' name. "Do you mind?" she directed the question at him.

"I don't mind." What else was he going to do? "I'd like to see the place."

"Great, that will give me a chance to think things over," Bulma said gently. She turned to Trunks. "How about it, Trunks?"


	3. End Day One

"Trunks?" Vegeta tested the name out as they advanced down another long, decorated hall. The name still felt strange on his lips.

"Believe me," the boy answered in a huff, "it wasn't my idea." He opened a door and they both peered inside. "Anything look familiar yet?"

"I'll let you know," he said, though he doubted anything would.

The place was nice, but something didn't sit right with him. Why such a gigantic place for such a small family? Aside from the sheer size of the place, there was really no indication that they were as wealthy as they claimed to be. It seemed to him that it was a waste of space and money, though he guessed that it wasn't really any of his business.

Trunks lead the way, absently pointing to every room they passed. "Guest bedroom, guest bedroom, _guest_ bedroom, bathroom…" he dramatically drew in a deep breath.

"Guest bedroom?" Vegeta asked.

Trunks' cheeks deflated loudly. "Ffft. Closet," he confirmed, and then turned, flicking his wrist at the rest of the hall. "We've got a lot of spare rooms. Mostly for storage and if someone stays over."

He thought back to Bulma's mention of their friends and nodded. "I can't believe how massive this place is."

Trunks shrugged slightly, unimpressed. "Yeah, it's pretty big I guess. But sometimes it's nice to have so many rooms to escape to when things get heated."

He couldn't help but feel as though Trunks' comment was directed at him. It was the second clue to his used-to-be persona in less than twenty minutes. He was beginning to think that he hadn't always been the greatest guy. "Heated?" he asked.

"Yeah, you know." He arched his eyebrows expectantly. "Arguing. Hey, I know! I'll show you the gravity room. Yeah!"

"'Gravity room'?" he asked cautiously. It sounded like some sort of torture chamber.

Trunks slipped his small hand into his without explaining and said, "Come on."

* * *

The 'Gravity room,' as Trunks called it was a giant, egg-shaped structure perched on several robotic legs. Trunks insisted that if anything would make him remember, this was it.

"What makes you so sure I'll remember this?" he asked, eyeing the thing skeptically.

"You were only in here twenty-four-seven," the boy informed him exasperatedly. He patted the rooms side with a dull 'thud, thud.' "Wanna see inside?"

It didn't appear to be as interesting as the boy made it out to be, but to humor him, he agreed. At first, he wasn't impressed. It was exactly what it looked like: a large, round, metallic structure. The ground was covered in large white tiles, and the walls were rounded, leading up to a domed ceiling.

"I don't—" no sooner had he said those words did the atmosphere change completely. Curiously, he looked down to his feet. He lifted one, paused, and then dropped it to the ground. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling, but it was strange. "What is this?"

"Pretty cool, huh?" Trunks said, a big grin on his face. Vegeta noticed he was toying with some sort of panel with blinking buttons, and then he felt his knee caps slamming into the ground. "Oops, sorry. Too strong?"

Vegeta climbed to his feet, his body easily adapting to the fluctuation of gravity. He began examining his body, remembering the buff physique from earlier, and then realized that his son didn't appear affected by the gravity increase, at all. He looked at his hands as though the answers might be written in the lines on his palms. "We aren't normal, are we?" he asked,

"If by normal you mean human, then no," he replied. Vegeta heard a button being depressed. His body weighed evened out and his knees became less tense. "Well, not you, anyway. I'm half human, half Saiyajin."

"Saiyajin?"

"Well...I guess it's an alien," he said, as though he'd been asked the time. "We _did _come from a planet in space."

Why couldn't he just be a normal, boring person, with normal, boring things to remember? It wasn't bad enough that he couldn't remember his wife, his child, in-laws and friends; he also had an alien-race to reacquaint himself with.

"It's not as big of a deal as it sounds," Trunks assured him. "Well, it _is_, but if I had to explain why it's so awesome we'd be here forever, so just take my word for it. We're pretty much like human, except we're super strong, and we're born with tails."

"Tails," Vegeta repeated.

"Uh huh. But it's better to cut them off, 'cause if we see the moon we turn into this giant ugly ape and destroy everything." Either this kid was a fantastic liar, or he was in way over his head.

"That's enough," he said , backing away with his hand on his stomach. He couldn't handle this right now. He wanted to vomit, or eat, he couldn't tell, and then crawl back into bed, shut his eyes, and wake up with everything the way it was supposed to be. "There's normal, edible food in your kitchen, isn't there?" he asked hopefully.

Trunks blinked several times. "Yeah." He turned and deactivated the chamber. The lights flickered off as they excited the capsule-structure, and the door-ramp pulling up behind them and clicking into place. Trunks lead him across the lawn, back inside, and into the kitchen.

"What do you want?"

"It doesn't matter."

Trunks cupped a hand around his mouth and promptly called for his grandmother. Vegeta about jumped out of his skin, as the woman materialized beside him, those strange squinted eyes and that wide, spacey smile.

"Did you change your mind, Vegeta? How about that coffee?"

"You really don't have to," he said, finding himself mildly irritated that the boy called her. Having amnesia didn't inhibit his ability to assemble a sandwich.

"Nonsense!"

"She likes to cook. Really," Trunks said, and then quietly, with his finger making small circles around his temple, said, "she's kinda weird."

Mrs. Brief turned and donned an apron, cinching it around her small waist. She sighed contently and spread her well-manicured hands out on top of the fine marble counter. "What'll it be, boys?"

Something told him to insist that she shouldn't waste her time cooking for them, but an extreme need to eat tugged at the back of his mind, joined by a loud groan from his stomach. He felt as though he could devour an entire schmorgasboard all to himself. He realized suddenly how long he'd been lost in thought, and said, "Anything. I feel like I haven't eaten in forever." He joined Trunks sitting atop high stools just outside the kitchen.

"That's understandable," she said, making her way expertly around the kitchen. Burners burst to life, pots and pans clanked. "You've been in bed for the better part of a month."

Had he really been out of it for that long? He took a moment to do a quick mental checklist, concentrating hard. For the first time, he noticed his back ached a bit. Really, that was about it. He counted his heartbeat, flexed his muscles. Everything felt in order.

"Why was I fighting in the first place?"

Trunks opened his mouth to respond. Mrs. Brief obliviously spoke over him. "Well you're a fighter, dear, that's what fighters do. Not like a boxer, though, you know? With the flying, and the kicking—you men sure do take a beating to keep this Earth safe!"

"Flying?" the word stuck out, among others, but he'd save those for later.

"Yeah," Trunks said, nodding his head vigorously. And then he began to levitate from the stool. "See?"

"What the—!" he felt the urge to leap away but controlled it. "How are you doing that?"

Trunks and Mrs. Brief laughed in concert, and Trunks plopped back down onto the stool. "It's easy. I'll show you sometime."

"Does it have to do with you being part Saiyajin?"

"No," he said, shaking his head, "anyone can fly."

Vegeta cast his gaze on Mrs. Brief, who was busy putting together food. He tried to ignore the delicious smell, and hold out until it was finished. He jerked his head at her and said quietly, "what about her?"

"No, not her. Not Mom, either, or Grandpa, now that I think about it," he revealed with a shrug. "But maybe they just don't care, since they have cars and stuff. But flying is faster, and way cooler." Trunks went on to briefly explain how flying was achieved, as well as bringing him up to date on the evil Nabeno. That Goku character was mentioned again, and to his surprise, the guy wasn't in jail. He was at home, recovering, with his son. "We save the Earth, and nobody knows who we are. If they do, we erase their memories, or something cool like that. And even if the police found out and did want to put us in jail or anything, it's not like they could catch us."

Vegeta still found himself dubious of Trunks' tales, but he had other things on his mind. Namely, food. It was almost alarming how intense the urge to eat was, he might even call it primal.

Before long, Mrs. Brief slid several steaming plates of food in front of them. Trunks attacked his with gusto, Vegeta watching in disbelief until his own hunger took over. It was a difficult task, shoveling food into your mouth like an animal and looking dignified, but he managed. When they were through, he stared at the empty plates in surprise, hand on his stomach. The least he could do, he decided, was wash the dishes. Even if he wasn't technically a guest in the house, he felt like one. He would have to find some way to pull his weight around the house, to avoid feeling so out of place.

"Vegeta, you don't have to do those," Mrs. Brief told him, but he insisted. In the middle of stacking them and putting them away, Bulma walked in.

"Hey, guys," she greeted. "Anything?"

Trunks shook his head. "I thought for sure the gravity room would do it."

"We'll just have to keep trying," she said, crossing over to the sink. She took a dish out of his hand as he was putting it in the dish drain and handed it to her mother. "Come on, I have something to show you."

Eventually, he agreed, and the three of them walked to a room with a large sliding glass door, a balcony with a terrace set, and a comfortable looking sofa. In front of the sofa was a low coffee table, littered with photographs. "I keep forgetting to put them in a book," she explained when they sat down. "But I thought maybe we could look through a few for a while. They might help bring back some of your memories."

"It's worth a shot," he said, reaching out tentatively, hand hovering over the pile. He picked a random one up, looking at it. He showed it to her.

"That's when Trunks was just a baby, and we took him to this park for kids. There's Goten," she pointed. "Goku's youngest son. He looks just like his dad, with that crazy hair. Does any of this look familiar?" The image did nothing for him. He picked up another. "Oh, that's earlier this year." It was him, scowling helplessly up into the camera. A collective of cats were using his thigh muscles to stretch their claws. The next one was of Bulma by the pool, making a toast with a fruity-colored drink. He nearly blushed and thrust that to the bottom of a stack in his hand. They looked through others; a three-eyed man and a small, pale-faced child, a pig-man with giant floppy ears. None of them looked even vaguely familiar, and while he enjoyed the stories behind each photo, he was beginning to feel down.

"This was nice, but I still don't remember a thing."

Bulma nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "That's okay," she said, patting his knee gently. "These things can take some time."

There was talk idling poolside for a couple of hours for small talk, but Vegeta was exhausted. He'd seen and heard enough for one day. Bulma brought him up to a nicely furnished but relatively empty room, showing him where the restroom was.

"I thought you might be more comfortable sleeping in here tonight," she said awkwardly, not meeting his eyes.

He was thankful for that, as he'd been dreading the sleeping-situation since mid-morning. On one hand, it seemed ridiculous not to share a bed with her. Amnesia or not, she was his wife. But on the other hand, he hardly knew her, and sharing a bed with a stranger just didn't seem like a great way to spend the night. "Thank you."

"No problem. This is just temporary, you know. If you feel comfortable enough to come sleep in our bed..." she trailed off. She told him if he wanted to take a shower, she'd lay out some fresh clothes for him. He decided that sounded like a good idea, and did. When he stepped out and dried off, there were two sets of clothing on the foot of his bed (pajamas, and clothes for tomorrow), just like she'd said. He slipped into the pajamas, crawled under the covers, and shut his eyes, listening to the quiet murmurs from below.

Day one was finally over.

* * *

**_So I know you guys are probably wondering why Vegeta was having such a hard time in the gravity room at first. Well, he really wasn't. It was just jarring. It's like being on a boat for a whole month, then off one a whole month. When you get back on, it might feel kind of strange to re-discover your sea-legs. So he hasn't been weakened or anything, don't worry. _**

**_P.S. I don't normally update this rapidly, but since day one got stretched into 3 chapters, I figured I'd just put them up one after another. I'll try to have one chapter uploaded a week from now on, but no promises. I know a lot of you are used to really long chapters- sorry, that's just not my style. Anywho, hope you guys enjoy._**


	4. Lesson One: Flying

The next morning Vegeta was up by eight, and in the bathroom by eight fifteen, devoting a whole ten minutes to trying to see the darkened, round scar where his 'tail' had once been. So Trunks hadn't been lying. He also noticed a few scars on his chest. They didn't look new. When he was through examining himself, he dressed and made the short trip to Bulma's room. He leaned in close and listened. A heavy fan was still on. He figured she was still asleep, and so he went downstairs to find something to eat.

"Good morning, Vegeta," Mrs. Brief said in a singsong.

Hearing her voice, he froze up. Something inside told him to be extremely careful, but then he saw her and relaxed. He wondered if she lived in the kitchen. He was leaning back against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in her hands, wearing white cut offs and a pink shirt. Her eyes were still pleasantly squinted.

He nodded a 'good morning' back. Morning time, even this late in the morning, just didn't feel like the time for conversation. The counter had a marvelous spread of flapjacks, syrup, eggs, bacon and toast, with a large pitcher of orange juice and individual mugs for coffee stacked in front of the coffee maker.

"Go ahead and eat," she told him. "I've already eaten. Bulma won't be down for at least another hour, and Mr. Brief… well, who knows when he'll wander in here."

He didn't have to be told twice. He piled his plate high and began eating. He noticed, through the patio window a few feet away, Trunks tear by, huffing and puffing. "He's up early," he said.

Mrs. Brief said, "Oh, he's always up this early. You two would get up, eat breakfast, then go train for hours, and hours."

He felt ridiculous for only just noticing the gi. "Training?"

"To be a fighter," she told him. "Like you and your friends."

"At this age?" and then he felt even more ridiculous for not knowing how old he was to begin with.

"Sure," Mrs. Brief nodded. "You've been training him since he was five."

He thought back to what Trunks had said about Saiyajins being abnormally strong. So far, the pieces of the puzzle were fitting, even if the end result looked a little insane. With every time Trunks lapped at the patio table, Vegeta felt a growing awareness of just how restless he really felt. There was some sort of craving to join the boy, and so, when Mrs. Brief finished her coffee and left to garden a bit, he did.

When Trunks rounded the corner and passed, Vegeta took off after him, easily matching his speed. Trunks wheezed loudly and looked over at him. "Nice duds," he commented, flashing a quick thumbs up. Vegeta wasn't sure what to make of that, and ignored it."Whacha doin'?"

"What's it look like?" Vegeta replied, using his longer legs to his advantage by inching ahead just a bit. It felt good to get the blood going, and he was surprised he was able to just jump into it. The longer he ran, the more he became aware of a throbbing pain in his shoulder.

"Mistake number one. You should've stretched first," Trunks warned. "Hey, you want to race?"

They lapped the patio. Vegeta almost rolled his eyes. Trunks was a good kid, but he was also a bossy know-it-all. "Ok," Vegeta said.

Trunks' face broke out into a large grin. "Try and keep up," he said, and then took off like a bullet.

Vegeta looked on in admiration, but only for a second, and did his best to match Trunks' pace. For two laps they were neck and neck, when suddenly a white, flame-like aura engulfed Trunks, and he went zipping through the air, around the house, and then came to a stop, hovering overhead. Vegeta gave up and bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He looked up. "That's cheating," he said. "I can't fly."

"Learn," Trunks said with all the maturity of a child, which he was.

Vegeta surprised himself by saying, "Teach me."

He immediately regretted it. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to learn, it just came out! When he finally caught his breath, Trunks was still hanging in the air above his head. "I don't know," Trunks said thoughtfully. "I don't think you're ready."

"So you're a bluffer, too?" Vegeta asked pointedly, folding his arms with a smirk. Somehow he knew that would ruffle the boys' feathers.

Trunks looked at him with a resolved expression. He clapped his hands together, did an impressive back flip out of the air, and landed on the grass. "Fine." a moment passed in which he simply stared up at him. Finally he instructed him to sit. Vegeta did. "Relax," he said. "That's not relaxed! Relax. Hmmm…" he began scratching his head.

"What's the problem?"

"Well, no problem, really. I'm just trying to figure out how to explain it is all. It's really simple, though, don't worry. You were the one who taught me. Ok, so… I already said relax…Uh. Ok, well maybe I should tell you what ki is and how you use it." Vegeta paid rapt attention, but he wasn't sure the boys' instructions were well received. There was more 'umming' than actual explaining. He could feel his patience begin to wear thin. "So… then you just…" and his body floated up into the air again, this time holding his cross-legged stance. "And…" a ball of energy formed in the center of his palm. "See? Easy."

"If it were easy," Vegeta mumbled, "more people would be doing it."

He concentrated when Trunks told him to, relaxed when Trunks told him to, and even changed his position when Trunks told him to, but for the longest time, nothing happened.

"I don't get it, you should be doing it by now," Trunks commented confusedly, walking a large circle around him. "This doesn't make any sense."

Pushing the embarrassment of being schooled by a boy, Vegeta said, "Well, how did I teach you?"

"Oh, a brief demo like I gave you, but then you—" understanding suddenly flooded Trunks' eyes. He leapt up into the air. "I've got it! Hold still."

He wasn't doing well with this 'learning to fly business,' and Bulma had to be up by now. He considered calling the lesson off until later, but when he turned to Trunks to say so, he found himself staring into a glowing, resonating ball of light. That Trunks fired directly at him.

He wasn't sure how, but he managed to dodge the attack. His speed was incredible, though chances were it was only the tip of the iceberg. Another ball shot after him, digging into the green grass. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He called.

"Don't worry, this'll work!" Trunks called back confidently, launching a several more golf-ball sized balls after him, one nicking his shoulder.

For an instant, everything seemed to stop. Teeth grit and fingernails dug into his palms. A small wind started at his feet, snuffed out, and then burst back to life. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself several feet above the ground. It lasted only a second before he came crashing back down. Trunks jogged over.

"Hey, it worked!" he cried happily. "I guess even though your mind doesn't remember this stuff, your body does."

"Boys?" Mrs. Brief called, running into view. She had a wide-brimmed hat on, and a pair of gardening gloves. In her hand was a rather dead-looking plant. "What's all the noise about?"

Trunks' explanation was sound, but Vegeta didn't care. He got to his feet and angrily brushed himself off, overwhelmed by an urge to lash out at the boy. It was a hard urge to fight. What kind of stunt was that, anyway? Luckily he was able to control the urge, and a few seconds later was calm. "That..."

"Was awesome?" Trunks supplied excitedly.

Surveying the holes in the grass, Vegeta said, "It felt..._ right._" Then he barked, "But if you _ever_ do that again, I'll—"

"Hey, look, you're getting back to your old self already," Trunks cut in with a grin, "Next lesson, ki blast. It'll be a synch."

He heard a window opening, and both looked back at the house. Bulma leaned out it, toothbrush sticking out of the side of her mouth, "What in the world is going on out here? What happened to my lawn? Trunks! When I get done with this, you're in big trouble, mister!"

Mrs. Brief said, "oh my."

* * *

**_Hoo boy, I knew this would happen. No, I don't have any intention of stopping this story- but I can see a problem forming. If there's anyone out there with extensive knowledge of the DBZ universe, drop me a line maybe? I need someone to run things by, so I'm not printing up a huge pile of 'wat,' thinking it's accurate/good. It's always good to have someone to talk things over with, after all. If that person is you, I beseech you, contact me! That is all. Have a great day! =]_**


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